


dance of swans

by maranyx (youarhell)



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Ballet, F/M, Kanej - Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn, Swan Lake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youarhell/pseuds/maranyx
Summary: Inej Ghafa is a prima ballerina at one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world, City Ballet Theatre. She has always grown up in the spotlight, a favorite of the fans and the director of the company. But when the new choreographer Kaz Brekker comes to choreograph Swan Lake for the company and seems to favor the guest artist Dunyasha, Inej has to convince him that she is the true epitome of the famous white and black swans.Prompt is taken from @dregsghafa on tumblr (http://dregsghafa.tumblr.com/post/156485406707/modern-dregs-au-inej-ghafa-she-is-a-vision-an and @inejjghafas ( http://inejjghafas.tumblr.com/post/156826732040/fandxmsunite-replied-to-your-post-inej-ballet )





	1. variation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fanfiction I've written in a realllyyyy long time, so I'm excited to see how this turns out.
> 
> As stated in the summary, the idea was not mine. But the writing is, so please don't copy or steal. Also, all characters belong to my queen Leigh Bardugo. :)

Inej Ghafa, principal dancer at City Ballet Theatre, was accustomed to often being accused of being the ‘Director’s Favorite’, because quite frankly, she was. There was no doubt about it, and when Julius Lebeau approached her to tell her that she would be performing the role of Odette and Odile in the upcoming season, Inej, frankly, was not surprised. Not even when the rest of the company didn’t even know what ballet they were doing yet, much less casting. Being the director’s pet, well, certainly had its perks .

Today, however, would show none of those so-called perks.

Inej could feel eyes on her throughout barre. During plies, tendus, and degages, there was unmistakably the weight of a stare following her. Though unshakeable, her rapid glances around the sunny ballet studio could not determine who it was. Inga, surprisingly, had not been giving her the envy-filled, discreet side eye that found its mark on Inej too often today. The naive apprentices weren’t in class today to stare in awe-- probably sleeping off whatever part of their hangover was left from Saturday night.

It wasn’t even the newcomer Dunyasha, who was from the Bolshoi in Russia and was guesting the upcoming season. Despite her envious long lines and precise technique, distinctly the child of the Russian Vaganova technique, Dunyasha wouldn’t stop with her obsession of spiting Inej to steal the spotlight. It had been one week with her, yet she was entirely insufferable. From the way her lips pursed every time her eye caught Inej’s to how she always stared down at her as if Inej was two feet shorter than her rather than of two inches, Inej was positive that she absolutely irked the newcomer, quite possibly for the reason of being the director’s favorite.

It wasn’t until midway through her Monday technique class when she had finally noticed the stranger sitting at the front of the room, smack in the center of the bench next to the artistic director of City Ballet Theatre, Julius Lebeau. The jolt of surprise nearly made her drop the water bottle she had been tentatively sipping from. It wasn’t rare that the director would watch class with a deep frown and crossed arms, but this… This was something new.

The guy looked like (as Nina, her roommate would describe him) an emo Draco Malfoy from the 1930s. She could see the faintest peek of a crisp white shirt under a tapered overcoat and a black suit and vest under that. The barely air conditioned room full of sweaty dancers in early Spring was thick and humid, yet he showed no signs of discomfort. Looking as if he had dressed for the set of Downton Abbey, he was completely out of place in a room full of leotards and tights- even more so with those midnight gloves.

Perhaps she had been staring too long, because a voice whispered in her ear, “I’m at least twice as hot as he as, but you never look at me like that.” Inej jumped at the sound of the voice, unclenching her fingers from where they had been clutching her water, setting it down at the side of the room. She broke her gaze away from the ‘emo Draco Malfoy’, but not before his black eyes caught hers and he scribbled something down in the notepad he had been writing in.

“You say that, Jesper, but you haven’t been in a relationship since you joined the company. And I don’t think you’ve had an one night stand in a while, either.” Inej rolled her eyes, a corner of her mouth turning upwards as she stretched out her calves. Saints, her shins were starting to hurt again, if she got shin splints _again_ , she would-

“Hun, you haven’t dated since you joined the City Ballet School, and I’m willing to bet you never even looked twice at a guy before that.”

“Shut it, Fahey. That pianist you’re always staring at probably doesn’t even know your name.”

“His name is _Wylan_ and we do talk. Did you know that he also plays the flute for the orchestra? Reckon he blows well, then, so at least I have an excuse.”

“Poor Dunyasha, she’s always staring at you-”

“Staring at _me_ ? She’s probably staring at _me_ because she stares at _you_ because she detests you and I’m the only one here that you genuinely like. She’s just jealous because she was the _you_ at Bolshoi-”

“I’m too unique for the Bolshoi to have one of _me_ ,” Inej murmured,

“- but now, the director only puppy eyes _you_ , not _her_. Besides, I’m not perfect enough to compare to her Russian Vaganova-ness!”

At that point, the pianist- _Wylan_ \- began having at it on the piano again, so they promptly shut up, Inej going back to stretching out her calves, Jesper going back to staring broodily at Wylan.

* * *

 

“Opening _and_ closing night? No. That simply _cannot_ do- your brain has been muddled, Lebeau. She could do Kitri, Carmen, perhaps even Odile. But she is far away from being the epitome of Odette?” The voice, sharp and cold, drifted from around the corner, remarkably foreign. Who was this-

“I’ll have to remind you, Brekker, that you are a _guest_ choreographer. Ghafa is perhaps our most notable dancer, and the media knows her for it. I know that you’ve done your research, so who would you say would be your ideal lead?” Inej startled at the sound of her name, afraid that she had been caught eavesdropping for a moment. She inched closer, pressing herself against the wall on light feet. It was evidently Julius Lebeau, the director, and quite possibly the strange man watching technique class earlier. Him, a guest choreographer? It was hard to imagine him ever being a dancer, wearing tights and anything but a sharp fitted suit. Interesting, interesting- perhaps she would be providing Jesper the gossip for once, not the other way around.

“The Vaganova-trained one, with blonde hair and remarkably gray eyes. She’s the _classic_ Odette, don’t tell me you don’t see it.” Vaganova? Blonde hair and gray eyes? _Dunyasha_ , no doubt. Of course, with her perfect body and precise technique remarkably better than hers, and pretty much everyone in the company.

“ _Dunyasha_ ? She’s only guesting with us for _Paquita_ , not for _Swan Lake_.”

“I know her type. She would want nothing more than to stay and expand her influence.” The man- Brekker- exhaled sharply, almost like a blow of laughter.

“This won’t do, Brekker. I won’t have you taking over my company. Casting is going up in exactly three days from now. You can hold an audition if you wish, but mark my words-”

“Three days, two days, right now- that isn’t going to stop Dunyasha from being a brilliant Odette.” She heard a scoff, then footsteps approaching. Quicker than a wraith, she deftly slipped out the hallway, her heart pounding. What did this mean?

* * *

 

“I think Brekker is Dunyasha’s boyfriend from Russia that is here to help make Dunyasha famous, so they can be rich together,” Jesper theorized proudly from where he was making waffle batter in Inej’s apartment.

“ … Well, he didn’t sound very Russian. He probably has some close ties with Lebeau if Lebeau is letting some choreographer choreograph _Swan Lake_ as a debut,” Inej rationalized. Or maybe Jesper was right and they were sleeping together. “Make extra for Nina. She’s coming home late, she had to do a big surgery today.”

Jesper mumbled about eating them all anyways, but hastily added more waffle batter.

Time seemed to freeze as Inej stared at the casting board. She could distinctly feel the hot press of sweaty bodies against her own, hear the quiet exclaims and murmuring of the dancers around her.

  
  


**Kaz Brekker’s** **_Swan Lake_ **

 

Casting:

 

SHOW 1/14:

Odette: _to be determined_

Odile: _to be determined_

Siegfried: Jesper Fahey

Rothbart: Kuwei Yol-Bo

 

She stopped reading after that, mind too numb to process any more information. … _to be determined_ ?! Opening night had never been _to be determined_ before. A sinking feeling hit her stomach- perhaps Brekker was right, she never deserved to be City Ballet’s leading dancers, relied too heavily on Lebeau’s sick habits of favoritism.

No… No, that couldn’t be- surely she had to have been talented enough to get her where she was today. After all, she was Inej Ghafa, and the world knew her for it.

She forced herself to focus on the muddled words on the board once again, scanning the list for her name. Once, twice, three times, she combed over the names on the board, yet none were hers. She could already feel the pitying glances towards her, as well as smug looks.  But wait- where was casting for closing night? Her heart rose with hope as her eyes jumped to the bottom of the sheet.

 

Show 14/14:

_See Show 1._

No… No… That wasn’t possible. The dismay sunk like a rock, and fury bloomed tight in her body. Saints, what information did Brekker have to blackmail Lebeau to do such naive things? Casting the same dancers for closing night as opening night? Why would he ever do such a thing- what would the critics say about that? Was Brekker trying to ruin his own reputation too?

Her lips tightened in a way that surely imitated Dunyasha’s and her fingers clenched before she exhaled a tight breath. Her lithe body slipped out of the horde of dancers massing around the casting board, and just like that, the prima had disappeared.

She was halfway to her apartment when her phone rang, the caller I.D. none other than Jesper. With a sigh, she lifted it to her ear, mustering the least-dead voice she could make.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Did you see it?” No greetings- he got right to the topic, as usual.

“Hullo to you too,” she signed now, wary.

“Answer my question.”

“Of course I did. Who do you think I am?”

“I’ll be over in 10,” was the only response before the line went dead. Inej sighed again. It seemed like she was having a very sigh-y day.

By the time she reached her apartment building, the sky had gone from a light pink to a would-be black if not for the plethora of street lights lining the streets. She unlocked the door to her silent, still apartment and deftly made her way through the dark contours and folds before reaching the bathroom and flipping the switch on. There was mascara smeared under her eyes, one of the faint signs of the makeup that she often neglected to wear for that very reason.

She needed a shower. And so she closed the door and twisted the shower faucet as far to the left as it would go, waiting for the water to leech of its chill by swiping a makeup wipe over her face.

A quick stick of her foot determined that yes, the water was finally scathing, and she slid in. The sweet burn of the hot water numbed her near-frozen body still cold from the early March weather. She sighed once more, this time from bliss, as the sweat and grime was washed off her body. She had never been so thankful for the expensive pressure showerhead Nina bought. She had at first disapproved of buying something so pricey, but now she felt like she could melt into nothingness by the flow of water.

She must have stood there for at least fifteen, twenty minutes, half asleep in a daze under the pour of water before it began to turn cold once again. Inej blinked and reached out to turn it off, She could hear voices in the hall, unmistakably Nina’s and Jesper’s. Inej hurried out of the bathroom with a fuzzy robe tied over her pajamas slightly wet from her body and her hair in a towel.

“Nice,” Jesper commented from where he was leaning against the kitchen island chatting amiably with Nina.

“I don’t get paid enough to buy silk robes,” Inej snapped right back, but she was focused on the feast laid out on the counter behind him. Sushi, pasta, Chinese takeout, chocolate cake, and of course, waffles- _Wow. What a pity party_ , thought Inej, raising her eyebrows. But a punch of realization hit her in the stomach.

“Congrats on Siegfried for opening and closing nights, Jes-” she started, fueling happiness into her voice and face.

“Oh, quit it. You’re moodier than Matthias,” Jesper cut her off, referencing Nina’s possible boyfriend that he had met only an impressive two times.

“And you still have mascara underneath your eyes,” added Nina. But she didn’t say anything about the Matthias comment.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, _oh Saints_ , I don’t understand. Nothing is adding up. There must be an ulterior motive here, Brekker’s crazy for doing this, and Lebeau is too for agreeing to do it.” Inej started, the frustration bubbling in her.

“Stop talking. We haven’t starting eating yet. Go get the wine, Jesper,” Nina stated purposefully, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out plates.

“Nina- I can’t do that! I don’t want to be hungover for a day of class and rehearsal tomorrow, and I have a costume fitting on Wednesday for _Paquita_. It’s a Monday night, are you crazy?” Inej groaned, rubbing her palms into her eyes. Nevertheless, she grabbed a plate and piled on the food.

“Don’t be naive. A bit of wine isn’t going to get anyone drunk. We aren’t lightweights,” Jesper remarked, pouring a bit more than ‘a bit’ of wine into the cups.

“Lebeau is both if he’s really letting Brekker wreak havoc on the prestigious City Ballet Theatre.” Inej said, laughing as collapsed onto the sofa. Cackles erupted from both of her friends, and she felt good . For once, she was complaining and letting her feelings out instead of keeping them trapped inside.

“To dumb directors and bitchy Russians,” Nina toasted, raising her glass.

“Amen!” Jesper chorused as they laughed and clinked their glasses together. Inej drank deeply, downing the sweet wine. She could feel her cheeks start to tint red.

Saints, by the end of the night, she could expect a hell of a hangover tomorrow.


	2. deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej learns of Kaz's intentions as his presence grows bigger at City Ballet Theatre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, my babes! This one took a few days longer than expected because I made it, well, a lot longer than I expected. But enjoy!  
> Note: the line '“You’re a storm. If this were art for art’s sake, there’d be no doubt you’d lead with that dangerous power. But this isn’t contemporary.”' was taken directly from @inejjghafas ' AU prompt on tumblr.

Inej, in the simplest way to put it, wanted none of this  _ life _ nonsense today. The colors were too vibrant, sounds too loud, ideas too complex. The vast ballet studio, bright and sunny from the floor to wall windows as a back wall facing the street, had provided for an open and light studio. But now, with the midmorning sun hitting her eyes far too sharply and the street noise rising up from the Manhattan street during rush hour, Inej wanted nothing more than to stomp over to the tall black curtains standing on the sides of the room and pull them together with a satisfying yank.

_ Oh Saints, save me _ , Inej thought miserably as she downed her second painkiller of the morning. Everyone else seemed so perky this Tuesday morning, eyes bright and smiles wide. She could hear laughter ringing out all around her, targeting everyone but her as they stretched before their morning technique class.  _ They can all suffer in hell _ , Inej let out a grumbled and took another sip of her jasmine white tea.

“See, this is why no one likes you,” a voice commented from behind her, far too loud for her liking.

“That’s not true. People love me,” Inej replied, twisting her back to avail a loud  _ crack _ .

“Well, you look like hell,” As if that was anything compared to what Jesper looked like. Inej, at least, had bothered to smear concealer under her eyes.

“Well, it was your idea to pull out the liquor after a ton of wine, Jesper,” Inej rolled her neck, hearing it crack in satisfaction. Her body felt stiff from falling asleep sprawled on the couch last night. Nina had slept next to her, but unlike Inej, she had gripped the faded couch pillow and clutched it to her chest, snuggling her head against it and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like  _ Matthias _ . Inej wasn’t going to question her about it, but, well, she wasn’t going to play dumb either.

“Never hurts to get straight to the point,”

“Well, actually?” Jesper rolled his eyes at Inej’s remark, murmuring  _ weak _ under his breath. The only reason why Inej didn’t smack him was because her body hurt too much.

“Well, well, look what the dog dragged in.”

“ _ Cat, _ ” Inej muttered, but still turned to follow Jesper’s gaze. “Well, Lebeau is definitely more of a dog,” she reconsidered, narrowing her eyes at the thought.

_ Saints _ , again? She stifled a groan, and while the rest of the room hushed and collectively stood up straighter, Inej resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew she was being bratty but… Kaz Brekker had done enough to spite her, so she thought she deserved it.

 

“Class!” The ballet mistress, a petite woman with silvering hair, had waltzed into the room. Though tiny, her voice carried throughout the room. It seemed to break the daze of the dancers, and all at once, the room was in motion again- stripping off warmups and getting ready for barre. Inej could hear Jesper sign behind her.  _ Me too, Jes. Me too _ .

 

Despite the intimation of the new choreographer staring down at everyone from the front of the room, class was going relatively well. The majority of Inej’s headache had subsided into a dull throb, though she still felt lightheaded. Her body, too, hurt like hell, muscles quaking with each plie and tendu.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Brekker mutter something to Lebeau. That was strange- from where she was stealthily spying on him from the corner of her eye, he had stayed silent until now, only scribbling notes on his paper with a precise hand, inevitably judging every dancer in the room.

Lebeau, in turn, walked over to the ballet mistress and whispered something in her ear. She raised an eyebrow but nodded in understanding. “ _ Thirty-two fouettes _ !” She announced in that dramatic, lofty voice.

It seemed as if the entire room had, collectively, raised their eyebrows. Inej felt sick to her stomach- there was no doubt what  _ that _ meant. Even when they did fouettes in class, it was never “ _ Thirty-two fouettes _ !” No doubt Brekker was seeing who would be the best Odile and do her legendary 32 fouettes in the Coda of the Black Swan Pas. Inej normally loved to turn, but today….

Saints, she would make sure to have at it at Nina and Jesper later.

The ballet mistress made a sharp gesture at the pianist- who, much to the dismay of Jesper, was not Wylan- and then music swept through the room, bold and striking. Inej steadied her fourth position, deepening her plie and pushing her feet flat in the floor, and with one last quick prayer to her Saints, she took off.

_ One, two, three _ … Inej counted silently, snapping her head so quickly to spot that she thought she was going to get whiplash. She was in her own world now, aware of nothing but her face in the mirror that she spotting. She could feel sweat running down her forehead and neck, no doubt flying all over the place. She was starting to lose it now, the concentration and focus, the drive. So with one final plie, one final  _ push _ , she brought it all in, spinning like a top, and-

Landed it. To the rest of the dancers in the room, some watching in annoyance and envy, others in awe, she seemed to lift and hold it for just a  _ moment _ before settling into a comfortable fourth in finish.

Inej, however, felt so dizzy she wanted to fall over and heave on the ground. But as she planted herself firmly into the floor, the entire room seemed to hold its breath as she stretched her arms and legs longer, staring at the tip of her middle finger to try to regain her balance…

And then she stood up straight once again and walked back over to stand next to Jesper. They seemed to watch her go for a moment as if expecting her to whip out another few dozen fouettes on the spot. But she did none of that, so they turned away and a layer of background chatter seemed to envelop the room.

“How many?” asked the blurry brown blob that was shaping out to become a sweaty Jesper.

“Twenty-nine,” replied Inej, still trying to decide what she felt about the number. It definitely wasn’t enough to compare to thirty-two, but she had done the most in the company, and if she had so herself, the were  _ pretty damn good _ . Especially for someone in her state.

“Weak,” Jesper shook his head mockingly, though his dazzling grin was wide across his face. “Did you  _ see _ the look on Brekker’s face?! Amazing.”  Jesper continued, his face positively glowing.

Inej had be so lost in her daze that she had completely forgotten about the stony-faced choreographer. She turned to look at him, but just as he came into her view, he moved and went back to scribbling in his notebook, almost as if he had sensed Inej turn to look at him. She had a sense that he was only pretending to write stuff down. She spun back around to look at Jesper, eyebrow raised.

“It was magnificent. He was staring at you the entire time. Not even taking notes. Just… Staring,” Jesper said dreamily. “Dunyasha was looked vehement. Looked as if someone had thrown a snake at her and asked her to eat it.”

“Don’t support cannibalism, Jes.” said Inej, laughing at the look on Jesper’s face. She didn’t know he enjoyed other people's misery  _ that _ much. “But I didn’t think that my fouettes were particularly amazing. I’ve done better. A lot better. And everyone knows that. Particularly when I’m not wickedly hungover because of you.”

Jesper looked at her with shock. “You don’t understand! They weren’t just the average fouettes we do in class, they were  _ meaningful  _ fouettes.”

“ … Right.” Inej replied.

“Remember back when we were at City Ballet School, and every year they would hold auditions for the Nutcracker to determine who would be what? It was like that. A deciding moment. Like some Dance Moms competition, where whoever did the most fouettes would win, and, well, get the part.”

“ … Did you just compare City Ballet Theatre to  _ Dance Moms _ ?! Hell, Jesper, I didn’t even know that you watched that show,” Inej frowned.

Jesper said nothing to that but turned pink as Inej smirked. At the front of the room, the ballet mistress was teaching the next combination and they marked it mindlessly.

_ Saints, I should not have done so many fouettes with this headache _ . She glanced at the clock at the front of the room. Five minutes left of class. She had rehearsals for Paquita in the afternoon- a short ballet that the company was doing at the beginning of CBT’s Summer Season- but she was only understudying the lead.

It didn’t seem to get better as class finished, but at least now she could go get some food and take a nap. A nap sounded perfect.

“Inej Ghafa. Dunyasha Lazareva.” Inej looked up at the sound of the foreign voice calling her name. Who-

_ Oh _ . That was the same voice that had essentially been trash talking her in the hallway yesterday.  _ Kaz Brekker. MacBitch _ . As Nina had called him last night.

She nodded at Jesper, who had raised an eyebrow at Inej as he followed the rest of the company that had filed obediently out of the studio. He shut the door behind him as he left the studio, the room suddenly felt empty and quiet. How often was this studio without music and the sound of pointe shoes against the floor? It irked her as she turned back to look at Brekker, Dunyasha, and Lebeau. Dunyasha looked remarkably composed, her hair sleek and stance just as fresh as it had been when she first walked in in the morning. Inej hoped that she had put in enough hairspray and her cheeks weren’t tinted pink from effort.

“Ghafa. Lazareva. I’ve made some decisions on casting,” His voice was sharp, and Inej could feel her breath catch at the words. Beside him, Lebeau looked displeased. Dunyasha only drew herself taller. “I have chosen to have Dunyasha lead as Odette and Odile for opening and closing night. Inej, you will be understudying.”

Each word was like the slice of a knife in her stomach. She could feel Dunyasha’s satisfied smirk staring down on her, Lebeau’s look of pity. She forced herself to stay strong. To look into Brekker’s eyes and hold his gaze.  _ Let him know that he is only making decisions that will lead to his own downfall _ .

“I would like to start rehearsing  _ right now _ .” He continued, “With Odile. We have three months until the production. We need to start now.”

Inej wanted nothing more than to call him out for his naiveness, unprofessionalism, along with a few other words, but she simply held her tongue and nodded with great difficulty. Lebeau, too, had a poorly concealed bitter look on his face. The sunny ballet studio now seemed bleary and empty as Inej walked to the back of the room, nap forgotten. She had to watch him teach Dunyasha the choreography. Learning the steps alone in a room with three other people made her feel as lonely as the pianist. Soon, Lebeau left the room, undoubtedly for the Paquita rehearsals going on in the neighboring studios that Inej was missing, and she was stuck with the two individuals who seemed to hate her most.

At the very least, there was some satisfaction in seeing Dunyasha struggle with her steps for Odile. Brekker waved his arms, cutting the air with sharp precision, as Dunyasha tried to keep her character and composure.

By mid-afternoon, however, Brekker, though discontented with the progress so far, resigned to merely saying that they would work again tomorrow. Inej nearly felt bad for Dunyasha as she collapsed to the ground as soon as he left the room, face pale and body nearly shaking with exhaustion. Another part wanted to laugh and squeal with glee.

 

Two hours later, however, she felt the same pain that Dunyasha had.

 

After Dunyasha left the room with a quick sneer with the pianist in quick pursuit, Inej stared at the bright, empty studio. More specifically, the very middle, the floor marked with wear. How many times had she stood there, the shining star of City Ballet Theatre, leading one of the best companies of the world?

But now, in this lonely studio, she wasn’t  _ Inej Ghafa _ . She was just another dancer trying to set free.

And so she stalked over to the thick black curtains and snapped them shut as she had been itching to all day. The room had darkened considerably, yet enough sunlight peered through so that her sharp figure was highlighted in the mirror. There was no pianist in the room now, yet her mind was filled with the distinguishable music that was undoubtedly a Tchaikovsky masterpiece. Her steps were no longer ginger as she took her place right on the center mark in the room, nor hesitant as she lifted her arms and the cool, calculating mask of Odile wiped over her face, No, she was the black swan, Odile, dangerous and seductive in the way that you didn’t notice until your heart was in her poisoned clutches, as deftly as a wraith.

And then, she began to dance.

Though her heart pounded and her feet cramped, she never felt more free and powerful as she took the room in powerful leaps and sweeps of artistry. She wasn’t Inej Ghafa anymore- she was wildfire, devouring the room, demanding to be seen.

Over and over, as she rehearsed the choreography, seeming to dominate the room. It was drastically empty, though it could have been just her on the Kennedy Center stage and her dancing would have showed no difference. 

Inej had been going at it for at least two, three hours now. She was working on her fouettes now, trying to get up to thirty-two but never quite meeting the mark.

_ Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty- _

A black figure at the corner of her sight cut off her concentration. Her chest tightened at the scare, yet she forced herself to finish the last two, her ankle protesting and calf straining. When she finally came out of the turns, she tried her best to stand up straight despite the dizziness and looked towards the person.

There watching through the glass window of the studio door, was none other than the ‘emo Draco Malfoy’, moody choreographer himself.Inej stiffened.

_ Oh, Saints _ . How long had he been watching? She didn’t think that her face could get any redder than how flushed it was now, but she felt her face heat up even further.

Kaz Brekker stared at her for another moment before turning the doorknob and walking into the studio. Shadows danced along his face as he walked towards Inej, still standing quietly at the middle of the room. He stayed quiet for a moment.

“I know that you believe that casting Dunyasha was the start to my spiraling failure. That I must have some serious money to have convinced Lebeau to let me come. And perhaps I do. I’m not denying it. But  _ I am no fool _ . You can say that casting Dunyasha as the lead was a fool’s move- and maybe she doesn’t have the same emotion, the same  _ storm _ that you value so highly in yourself. You dance as if it is a burden to stay still, as if to dance without passion and spark is no better than not dancing at all. But  _ you’re a storm _ , Inej Ghafa. If this were art for art’s sake, there’d be no doubt you’d lead with that dangerous power. But this isn’t contemporary.”

It felt as if there was some unsaid conclusion that Inej could not yet determine, but there came none. Inej stared into his black eyes, studied the sharp edges of his face. Then, searching no more, she dipped her head in not quite a nod but rather an acknowledgment, and walked out of the studio.


	3. trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casting is (finally) officially posted and Inej struggles to deal with her emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. GUESS WHAT!!!!
> 
> I found Odette! Inej fanart on Tumblr (mine are booksofmaasdestruction and youarhell if any of guys are wondering) inspired by THIS fic and @inejjghafas AU prompt by clearlynotclaire!!!! I AM sHoOk. IT IS AMAZING. I AM BLESSED. SO BLESSED THAT I CAN ONLY FUNCTION IN SIMPLE SENTENCES. Check it out at https://clearlynotclaire.tumblr.com/post/157416973922/i-maaayyyyy-have-fallen-in-love-with-the-idea-of !!
> 
> On another note, this chapter was pretty difficult to write because it's more emotion-based compared to my other chapters. I would say not quite a filler, but at the same time not quite as much plot and action as I would have liked. I was planning to post this chapter earlier, but I was at a VE Schwab signing for ACOL (which was ABSOLUTELY amazing).
> 
> Thank you guys for the bookmarks, comments, kudos, hits, and simply for reading.
> 
> -maranyx xx

Step 1: Denial. Step 2: Anger. Step 3: Bargaining. Step 4: Depression. Step 5: Acceptance.

Inej, unfortunately, was still on step one, quite possibly because a) if she was being quite honest, in no imaginable scenario would a creepy guest choreographer choose to cast  _ Dunyasha Lazareva _ instead of  _ Inej Ghafa _ for opening and closing night of his first ever ballet (which happened to be  _ Swan Lake _ , one of the most legendary ones) simply because Inej ‘danced with too much expression’, and because b) she wasn’t grieving, but she was  _ sure as hell _ pissed.

She clutched to quickly dying hopes and prayed to her Saints that she would wake up the next morning and find out that casting had shifted. Perhaps when Kaz Brekker officially announced casting for the premiere and closing nights of his  _ Swan Lake _ , the name next to  _ Odette/Odile _ would be Inej Ghafa, as Brekker had a miraculous change of heart after watching Inej pour her soul into her dancing as she practiced the night before. Maybe Julius Lebeau would come to his senses and pull his executive power as director of the company to make Brekker cast Inej as lead. Or maybe even Lebeau would kick Brekker out and strip them from doing  _ Swan Lake _ in their Summer season. 

The last one might have been a bit petty and selfish for her liking. But as Inej layed in bed curled between the thick folds of covers (though her eyes were wide open and staring at her eggshell ceiling), she realized that they all had their fair share of childishness.

Inej sighed and tried to close her eyes to sink into the cushion of sleep, savoring a few last precious moments before she truly had to get up to start yet another exhausting a day. But even her eyes pressed tightly shut couldn’t block the obnoxious  _ tick tick _ of the clock on her nightstand, the sounds of a New York City much more awake than she was, and the singing (more like screeching) of Nina somewhere in their apartment. And so, with a loud groan, she pushed herself up so she was sitting (which she immediately regretted, as a wave of dizziness shot through her head) and swung her legs over the side of the bed to stand up (which, too, was a truly shitty idea, as her left leg seemed to be asleep from knee down and she nearly fell over but instead toppled back into the bed). Head spinning, leg prickling, she stood up again, this time slowly and gently, hobbling towards the door, ready to start the day, yet completely unaware that it would hold what she hoped for- though it wasn’t quite what she  _ wanted _ .

The bell tower outside the studio building rang its eight bells just as Inej strode through the doors with purpose, head high and ballet bag bouncing slightly with each step she took. She had barely taken five steps through the glass double doors before a slender hand nimbly plucked the coffee mug she had been holding from her hands.

She turned to curse at whoever it was, which was (obviously) Jesper Fahey, resident work husband™ and best friend (though admittedly one of her few real friends). Her mouth opened to snap at him but Jesper beat her to it.

“Blegh. Do you ever drink  _ anything _ besides this cursed leaf water?!” Jesper brought her mug to his lips and took a sip, making a face at the taste. He didn’t pause and continued to walk with Inej to where she was inevitably heading- the rehearsal board. Inej resisted the urge to laugh and instead chose to glare at him, swiping her mug back and lengthening her stride to keep up with Jesper’s long legs.

“You didn’t text me back last night,” Jesper continued, glancing down at Inej. It was true- she saw his at least twenty frantic texts and ignored all of them, instead treating herself to a few waffles and flopping into bed straight after. There was a chance that she indulged in a glass of wine, too. Maybe two.

“I was, well,” Inej searched for a word, but came up with nothing, shrugging instead. “Meh.”

Inej’s pace turned faster, Jesper now struggling to keep up. There was no doubt where she was going- the casting board. It was still early, but the few dancers that were there already all gave her looks. She didn’t want to know what  _ that _ meant.

“Inej,  _ wait _ ,” Jesper grabbed her arm and forced her to spin and face him.

“ _ What _ ?” Inej snapped back, now no longer hiding her anticipation.

“You’re not going to be happy. Well, you might be.” But as he took in Inej’s unimpressed face, he reconsidered. “Actually, definitely not.”

“Tell me, Jesper.” Inej commanded, though suddenly she felt tired. When she got no answer in return, she pursed her lips and glared, giving her signature death look. Jesper sighed and let go Inej, wringing his hands.

“You’re Odette. And Dunyasha is Odile.”

She felt her eyes widen at the words, jaw dropping and lips parting, her world turning sideways. And then she near flew to the casting board, her bag still obnoxiously bouncing on her hip, Jesper following in quick succession.

And there it was:

 

 

**Kaz Brekker’s** **_Swan Lake_ **

 

Casting:

 

Show 1/14:

 

Odette: Inej Ghafa

Odile: Dunyasha Lazareva

Siegfried: Jesper Fahey

Rothbart: Kuwei Yol-Bo

 

 

 

Her eyes stopped reading and skipped to the bottom of the page, pleading to her Saints that there would be something less horrendous for the last show than the first. But to no avail, it was a mirror image of the first. Inej hadn’t felt this… Vulnerability in so long, as her hand flew up to touch her lips parted in a perfect  _ O _ shape. She felt dizzy as her eyes zeroed in on her own name beside  _ Odette _ and Dunyasha’s beside  _ Odile _ .

Inej had prayed to her Saints for casting to change, but  _ this _ … She quickly dismissed the urge to curse her Saints. Distantly, she could feel Jesper’s pitying look fixed on her face. It was a strange feeling. True pity, like this, had been foreign to Inej for a long time- either there was no reason or no people to pity her. A part of her wanted to draw her lips back and give a guttural snarl- another rationalized to keep her cool and deal with it.

And so, she did. But even pushing herself to her limits in technique class an hour later couldn’t fix her fury, her confusion. Never before had anyone done  _ Swan Lake _ and have different people for Odette and Odile- it was  _ iconic _ . Yes, there were  _ so many _ versions of the same ballet.  But in all it was a near requirement for them to be played by the same dancer. Brekker was mad. As mentally mad as Inej was furious. Did he not care about ruining his reputation before people even knew of his name? 

She pondered it as the sweat trailed down her back during barre, as a blister formed on her small toe from pressing against her pointe shoe during center. Alas, she came up with no answers except rage and, once again, denial; no conclusion aside from a determination to throttle Kaz Brekker.

Inej Ghafa had  _ showed _ him that her essence was that of Odile, that she lived and breathed and simply  _ was _ the fluid wickedness of the evil black swan, and he had acknowledged it (kind of). And though she had proven that she was everything Dunyasha was not, the words next to  _ Odile _ were not Inej Ghafa. Brekker had commented on her fire and  _ passion _ that showed in her Odile, and yet she was Odette- clean, full of grace, and near  _ fragile _ , everything she was not. The thought almost made her laugh, burst out in manic cackling and collapse on the floor. But she didn’t, couldn’t, so she (once again) settled on wanting to throttle the choreographer.

But for the first time since his first welcoming at City Ballet Theatre, choreographer Kaz Brekker was seemingly absent. Whereas his presence normally seemed to fill up the room with intimidation and scorn, now it just seemed… Empty. As if Inej could dance freely instead with the weight of a stare heavier than a boulder fixed on her.

“Mr. Brekker. May I have a word?” Inej forced the words through her mouth, if not a bit stiff, but at least civilized. She saw his fingers in those midnight leather gloves curl into not quite a fists before he turned, his usual impeccable, cool look on his face.

“Yes, Ghafa?” It was phrased sharply, a glinting knife.

“Why?” The word was out of her mouth barely after the last syllable of  _ Ghafa _ . Inej was hungry for answers, desperate for logical reasoning. Kaz Brekker raised his left eyebrow just a tad, as if to question why she would ask that but still expected it regardless.

“We have three months until the premiere of my first ballet with a company as major as City Ballet Theatre. Three months of long, treacherous rehearsals each day. And how belittled would they be by a dancer ready to leap on stage and perform it with perfection within the week. It is a  _ challenge _ , Ghafa, to take a struggle and turn it into effortless perfection. And that’s what they’ll remember about me- Kaz Brekker, new choreographer at City Ballet Theatre, made his debut by revealing a new side of star Inej Ghafa.  _ That _ is how I will be introduced to the world. There’s rarely anything special about the ordinary, about what has been known.  _ This _ will be just the first crack of inevitable success, for you and for me. Dunyasha, too, though you don’t care much for her,” he finished, quietly watching Inej turn the words over in her head. His reasoning, well, kind of make sense.  _ No, they don’t.  His words don’t make sense. He doesn’t make sense. It’s wrong and dumb. He’s wrong and dumb _ , she reprimanded herself firmly and set her jaw.

“You could’ve made the good great, made excellence into perfection. I don’t understand you, Kaz Brekker… But I sure as hell hope you’re right. To spare my dignity… And yours.” She stopped, searching Brekker’s eyes for the answer to some unknown question but found nothing except glittering obsidian.

She had barely given a polite nod and turned away before a mental list why Kaz Brekker was a shitty choreographer with a doomed career bloomed in her head:

 

  1. Possibly bribed the director of one of the world’s most famous ballet companies to earn him the spot as guest choreographer.
  2. Chose to do _Swan Lake_ , an extremely famous and easy to go wrong ballet, as his first major ballet to choreograph (perhaps this was simply just dumb, but she added it nevertheless).
  3. Decided to break the famous tradition of having the same dancer perform Odette and Odile for opening _and_ closing nights.
  4. Had the same cast for opening and closing night (this one Inej _really_ did not understand).
  5. Possibly broke a guesting contract with a dancer from another company so they could perform in the ballet.
  6. Had said dancer perform Odile despite being the classic Odette with a perfect body and technique. Especially when another proved to be better at the part.
  7. Cast the perfect Odile as Odette simply because their rehearsals ‘would be wasted’.



 

Hell,  Inej wanted to be wasted now.

_ Oh, Saints. Save me, _ she thought miserably. Yet still, she sat down and put on her pointe shoes for her first ever rehearsal of Odette.


	4. quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej struggles with the role of Odette.

Sweat beaded down her neck and beyond, trailing down her shoulder blades and spine, dripping into the front of her navy blue leotard. Her arms ached, held up loftily at her sides and rippling with the grace of a swan. They were nearly as sore as her legs- but oh, her legs, how tight her calves felt, how her ankles threatened to snap with each step pushing the limit, leaping past unknown barriers of effort.

But despite the generous portion of her soul she pushed into her dancing, she still wasn’t Odette, wasn’t the long, extended grace full of shy emotion and fluid, smooth beauty. No, she was still Inej Ghafa, a girl with a torso just slightly too long for the rest of her body and a natural sharp passion brimming on anger.

With the sharp cut of a leather-clothed hand through the air and the shake of a head, the music cut off abruptly, the crescendo of the cadenza left empty and uncompleted. Inej let go of whatever was left of the fragile mask of Odette- not that there was much to begin with. Her dry throat throbbed and she resisted the urge to bend over and dry heave onto the Marley floor, instead bending her knees and leaning forward to grip her thighs, fighting to keep her breaths even.

Kaz Brekker’s sharp black eyes stared at her half-crumpled figure for a second before meeting her eyes. Inej straightened up once again to level her gaze, back still heaving with quick breaths.

He shook his head slowly before he even said anything and every bit of hope that she clung onto that her Odette wasn’t as terrible as she thought was stripped away. He walked towards her slowly, raising his hands as if to gesture.

“You are Inej Ghafa, principal dancer at City Ballet Theatre, the _crown jewel_. But that is not the person that people want to see. You think they _care_ about who you are? They pay to come watch a swan take the stage and guide them through a beautiful tale of love and heartbreak. You _cannot_ be you- yet you still are. You have to shed this identity, this cover of that girl in order to become the swan queen.”

He made it sound so easy, as if Inej could fix the entire problem and automatically become a new person simple by tilting her head in a different direction or moving her leg in a different way. So she waited for directions, waited for unspoken words that would push her onto the path of becoming Odette.

“Think about it. We’ll continue Odette’s variation tomorrow. Let’s move onto the pas de deux,” He paused, pulling up his notepad and flipping through it with a gloved finger. Inej stared at him, blinking in disbelief. …That was it? No corrections, no remarks besides a strange pep talk about how no one actually liked Inej and that she needed to become a different person? Her brow started to furrow, eyes narrowing, mouth opening to raise the question on her lips: _Mr. Brekker, could you give me a few suggestions to help me?_ Or more appropriately: _Mr. Brekker, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?_

No one said Nina was a good influence on her. But before she could ask anything, Brekker already cut her off.

“Fahey. We’re starting the pas.” At the words, Jesper Fahey, one of Inej’s closest friends in real life and Odette’s lover Prince Siegfried in _Swan Lake_ , perked up at the words from where he had been lazily stretching with a leg propped onto the barre at the side of the room, pretending to have been paying attention to rehearsal but instead not-so-discreetly staring moodily at the pianist on the opposite side of the room, Wylan van Eck (who probably never noticed Jesper’s flirtatious efforts and longing gazes). He stalked over on his long, lean legs, giving Inej that crooked half-grin of his that revealed pearly white teeth. Inej, in return, raised her gaze to the warm brown eyes a head higher than she was, trying to look energized but instead looking dead and lifeless.

“Ghafa, you start on stage for the pas after the opening of Act II- after eight counts, Fahey will come on stage and see you- yes, good, Fahey, just like that-“ Kaz Brekker prattled on in that crisp, snobbish voice of his, unknowing of how Inej’s heart tore the slightest bit at Jesper’s immediate praise while she herself had barely gotten two nods in the past few hours.

The pianist picked up his sorrowful tune once again, one of Jesper’s hands coming to wrap around her wrist, the other just above her hipbone. The cherographer, clad in once again black, called out the steps and directions, but even more frequently, _again!_ , so they repeated it over and over, working their way through the white swan pas de deux, and dancing the story of a prince and a swan.

 

* * *

 

Inej Ghafa and Jesper Fahey left the studio together in synchronization as the bell tower chimed its seven bells in the distance.

The studio was mostly empty when Inej pulled on her warmups and slid her nimble feet into her shoes, sweat still trickling down the length of her neck. Now, the streets of the city were more crowded than the building but still relatively quiet aside from the distant hum of traffic and city life.

“You wanna get drunk tonight?” asked the cheery voice of Jesper Fahey from beside her.

“I want to watch a sad movie and listen to sad music and be sad and cry myself to sleep tonight,” Inej responded, tone just as miserable as the words.

Jesper didn’t have anything to say to that, though his mouth was edging on a smile and Inej could feel him refraining from a laugh. Inej was, too- so with a great exhale and a poorly faked cough, a cackle flew out of her mouth. She tilted her head back, embracing the still chilly March sky as a gust of wind zoomed past her face and lifted her hair, another filling her mouth with cool air. A part of her did, in fact, want to drink a few glasses of wine, but rationale smothered the thought.

“It’s actually not terrible-“

“It’s terrible.” Inej cut him off, shooting down the false hope that wouldn’t make her feel any better.

“We still have three months of rehearsal,” Jesper retorted.

“Saints, don’t remind me.” Inej groaned.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?” Jesper’s voice held something like real concern, so Inej forced a tired smile.

“I’m good. I’ll probably catch up with Nina if she comes back from the hospital, maybe even get eight hours of sleep.”

 “You won’t.”

“Good night, Jesper.

* * *

 

Inej shut the door with a snap, ballet bag already falling to the floor as she stalked her way over to the bathroom to shower off the sweat that had gathered along her hair and body throughout the day. Nina still wasn’t home yet, probably had yet another late night surgery. Or maybe she had run off on a date with Matthias.

She twisted the shower knob, turning it the farthest it would go. Inej leaned against the bathroom wall, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face that stared back looked exhausted and nearly pathetic.

Saints, she _felt_ pathetic. Upset because a new choreographer had taken away a piece of familiarity at her job, discouraged because she had a rough start.

The bathroom mirror was starting to fog now, but Inej remained fully clothed, staring at her reflection in the mirror and pondering her options. Finally, she reached over the twisted the shower knob back to _off_ , switching off the bathroom light and grabbing her ballet bag before walking straight out the door again.


	5. cinq

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, my friends. It's been quite the while.
> 
> The last two weeks have been a maelstrom for me, but I finally found time to write yesterday! I should be returning to my every Sunday schedule soon.

One week.

7 days.

168 hours.

One week on the dot, and Dunyasha was already shaping up nicely to become the sinful and lethally dangerous black swan she was supposed to be.

Inej, on the other hand… Well, Inej was just trying to avoid being taken out of the lead role for one of the most famous ballets in existence. And being fired. Either one applied.

She was used to taking the stage by storm, demanding attention through her robust leaps and onerous presence. Her artistry and movement was simply dynamic and vehement, and she was known for it. What was in the hearts of the audience was only confirmed on paper by the penning of critics from the Times, Post, and a plethora of other places she kept a list of through newspaper clippings in her nightstand drawer. 

But Odette-- Odette seemed to simply everything she was not, a quiet being that slipped into the hearts of Prince Siegfried and the audience through simple grace and beauty. Not to say that Inej wasn’t graceful or beautiful, but Inej did more than that to enthrall the audience. When she watched videos of Odette to study their character, the most notable fact she found about them was their identical pained expression upon their face. Inej couldn’t be the one of many known for that character, for that expression upon their face.

But as Inej soon realized as she once again put on her pointe shoes for another treacherous Odette rehearsal that would prevail no improvement, that was the only to preserve the reputation of the production, and by extent, choreographer Kaz Brekker, artistic director Julius Lebeau, and City Ballet Theatre as a whole.

_To hell with them. I’d rather spare my dignity,_ she thought miserably as she stood herself up and rolled out her neck. She could sense Jesper approach her, his long legs making him loom over her. They oftentimes stretched together before their Odette/Siegfried rehearsal.

“I don’t see why you’re bothering to warm up if our chances of actually working on the pas today are so slim,” Inej commented nonchalantly. It was true- for every past rehearsal that was supposedly for their pas de deux and variations, they had spent the entire time working solely on Inej’s Odette variation with a frustrated Kaz Brekker. A waste of time for Jesper, for sure, and for Inej too, as his metaphoric lectures did nothing for her improvement.

“Ah, but as they say, stretching keeps the body young,” he replied with his usual brilliantly white smile.

“Says the dancers that retire before age 40,” Inej retorted, glancing at the clock. Only four minutes before her daily hell would start.

“Are you suggesting that spending a couple more years doing absolutely nothing isn’t a marvelous luxury?”

“I said nothing of like.”

The conversation paused for a moment as Jesper picked up his phone and scrolled through his notifications with quite the alarming scrutiny.

“You seem quite intrigued there, Jesper,” Inej commented, noting on the furrow of his brows. Alas, he set his phone back down with a sigh.

“I gave Wylan my number, and he said he would text me,” Jesper stared glumly out the tall window panels that overlooked the city.

“The pianist? Are you still on him?” She raised her brows. Jesper was of a fasting moving sort, she never expected his romantic obsessions to still exist after such a prolonged period.

“Oh, shut it, Inej. You would be all over him too if you had seen those beautiful cheekbones of his.” Inej, as a matter of a fact, had seen them, and she had to admit that they were quite spectacular.

“You don’t even know if he’s gay. He might be interpreting your actions differently,” Inej raised her eyebrows.

“All a straight male needs to be bi is the right man,” Jesper retorted primly.

Inej opened her mouth to fire some sense into her best friend, but almost as if it were planned, the man himself walked in.

The glass door opened and shut with a crack and Wylan van Eck strolled in, his ruddy curls looking slightly damp and matching the usual flush of color upon his cheeks. The stack of sheet music he gripped in his hands rustled as Inej turned back to look at Jesper, whose smile had broadened. If possible, he seemed to stand up even taller on those long legs and his white teeth seemed to shine like diamonds.

“Hey, Wylan!” Jesper called, grinning and waving. The man in question turned back from where he had been flustering with his music and waved at the pair. Inej nodded politely back. Her mouth opened to comment to Jesper, but he was gone-- striding already halfway across the room to buddy up the pianist. Inej held back a scoff.

Where was Brekker, Lebeau? Maybe they forgot about rehearsal, the hopeful part of her rationalized. The other part wished that the Saints heard her prayers and rid them.

“My apologies. We’re going to begin today with the pas de deux,” All hope sank with each word that came out of the new, deep voice that emerged from the front of the room. The choreographer strode in as off guard as she had ever seen him. He too, Inej noticed, had high cheekbones. A faint flush highlighted them, contrasting his customary milky skin.

Strange.

“Let’s begin.”

* * *

 

“Did you count how many metaphors he gave us?” Jesper sighed, collapsing onto the floor. Inej followed suit, swallowing heaps of water from her bottle. Her toe throbbed and her calves ached as she untied her pointe shoes.

“Five. But he used two of them yesterday, too,” Inej replied as she rolled her neck to avail a satisfying crack. Brekker was scribbling furiously in his notebook, a frenzied look in his eyes.

They had barely gotten through a minute and a half out of the total of seven during the past hour of rehearsal. An hour filled less of teaching the steps but rather of lecturing and nit-picking, yet Brekker still remained unsatisfied with what they had done. It was  _ impossible _ \-- even the smallest  _ pas de bourree _ or  _ port de bras _ executed seamlessly didn’t escape the scrutiny of Brekker. Perhaps the only comment for the  _ pas de bourre _ would be to articulate the pick-ups more, but for the  _ port de bras _ , there often came a long lecture on how Inej needed to refocus her mindset to become the pure white swan she was supposed to be.

Inej, needless to say, was pretty annoyed.

She was well aware that they weren’t close to finishing even for the day, yet she wanted nothing more than to fling off her too-tight pointe shoes and walk out the door. Yes, Inej Ghafa was finally losing her cool, her level-headedness.

“Are you okay?” Jesper asked, prying Inej’s water bottle out of her clenched hands to take a sip. Inej made no sound but a strangled noise that might have been a muffled scream and merely nodded.

“Get up. I want to finish at least half the pas today.” At the sound of Brekker’s words, Inej stifled another groan, retied her pointe shoes, and stood herself up.

* * *

 

Needless to say, they didn’t end up finishing at least half of Odette and Prince Siegfried’s pas de deux. When they had finally started making progress, Lebeau had come in and whispered a few words to Brekker. After that, he made them run the small bit they had done over and over, striving for a perfection not easily reached.

“You leaving?” asked Jesper Fahey in between munches of a granola bar. She stared longingly at it.

“Yeah,” Inej replied, tearing her gaze away and instead pulling her phone out, checking her absence of notifications. It wasn’t exactly completely true, but it wasn’t as if it was an outright lie, either-- Inej had become quite good at finding those in between spots, but a part of her still felt bad, so she added, “In a little bit.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow, then,” Jesper waved as he left, leaving Inej behind. Inej watched the clock tick by slowly, and when it had finally prevailed five minutes later, she stood up from where she had been lounging on the floor, pulled her heavy ballet bag over her shoulder, and walked towards the studio.

It was lit only by the spare threads of sunlight siphoning through the clouds and window and into the studio, but Inej didn’t bother to turn on the bright overhead lights. It was easier to dance in the dark, where she truly felt as if she was dancing alone, away from prying eyes. It was one thing to dance in front of an audience, attired in a dazzling tutu, showcased to the world. But dancing alone, to her, always meant dancing with a part of her soul embedded into the movement. She slipped into the quiet, now abandoned studio, pulling on her pointe shoes and tying the ribbons.

Though the room was silent, with Wylan the pianist long gone, she could hear the music flowing from her movements, from her dancing. A slight sheen broke out along her forehead as she exerted her passion and energy into the role of Odette. But though the steps were executed cleanly, she still  _ was not the white swan _ . She could feel it in her heart, frustration brimming as she did it over and over. She knew doing the wrong thing over and over wouldn’t make it right-- but she still couldn’t figure out how to do the right thing.

It was halfway through a turn in her fifth time running it through when she caught a glimpse of the black figure standing by the door. She stumbled out of the turn, and when she regained her balance, a sense of deja vu washed over from the last time Kaz Brekker had caught her practicing in a darkened studio. She raised her brows at him, inviting him to speak. He stepped into the studio, shutting the glass door before he spoke.

“The role of Odette, for you, is a cage. It traps you and limits you to a set of emotions that isn’t natural for you, a challenge you might have never overcome if I hadn’t cast you as Odette,”  _ I saved you _ , were his continued unspoken words. As if Inej was incapable of being the brilliant dancer she was if Kaz Brekker hadn’t come along, she would have never accomplished greatness. A part of her heart swelled in anger at his words, at the  _ authority _ he thought he had. But another part knew he was right. All the greats, no matter from where or when, had done  _ everything _ \-- not just what they were comfortable with. The look on her face must’ve changed from disgust to revelation, because he continued, “I can help you.”


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaz rehearses one-on-one with Inej.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT GUYS!!! I did it!! I finally, finally, updated. It's been a kind of hell this past of month (and I'm letting you know ahead of time that May is my actual designated hell month) and I've been so stressed these past few days. But the best way to take a break is to write, so here is chapter six for you guys. :))
> 
> Also. Also.
> 
> Thank you guys so so much for these incredibly sweet comments. They really push me to write and let me know that people actually, well, read it!
> 
> -much love from maranyx

_“I can help you,”_

 

The words seemed to form a vibrato in her head, echoing around and around. Yet she resisted the urge to scoff and roll her eyes-- _help her_? Well, that was supposed to be his job, wasn’t it?

Even though he, seemingly, wasn’t the best at it.

 

What else was he supposed to do? That was his duty—teach the steps, then make it beautiful. The steps were fine, but the second part?

 

Needless to say, it needed some improvement. It needed the will of Kaz Brekker, which was shaping up to be not very much. He was there, in a way, but in a pathetic, half-hearted way that was more of a mind-boggling burden than anything else. Inej didn’t need the constant metaphors that came one after the other, nor the lack of rocky-solid corrections.

 

The lack of something solid to work on, the words that would tell her how to position her arms and head for a lofty, swan-like look; tips on how to hold the  _passe_ in her step turns longer in her Odette variation.

 

She just needed something…. _There_.

 

In its lack she received scalding looks and an abundance of winded-up speeches on how she needed to reposition her mindset. A lot of them, yet none of them were particularly helpful.

 

Would she get something real? Would Kaz Brekker finally realize that he needed to change his method?

 

 _Probably not_ , a side of her rationalized. The desperate part of her argued, _Take what you can get_.

And so she met Kaz Brekker’s black eyes, the slight raise of his brows, and slowly nodded.

Inej Ghafa walked out of rehearsal confused. _Very_ confusedIt wasn’t exactly a _rehearsal_ , but a practice for the ballet nonetheless, no matter how informal it seemed. Though it was the star guest choreographer himself, it was… Relaxed. At least, relaxed in the terms of rehearsal with Brekker.

 

Inej’s legs guided her out of the studio and into the Dancer’s Lounge. With a glance around, she realized that it was questionably empty. The glowing 9:31 P.M. of the digital clock mounted on the wall explained why. _Oh_ , the shock of realization hit her, and she quickly sat down to untie the ribbons on her pointe shoes. The list of chores she had allotted mentally for the night shortened as she pulled them off, savoring the faint sting of cold, fresh air on her battered toes. She pulled her warm ups back on in quick succession, and with a swig of tea from her water bottle, she turned out the door of the lounge and then the building, and faced the soft slaps of wind in the cool air.

 

It was only now when she allowed herself to think.

 

She opened her mind to the night sky, to the stars unseen through smog yet without a doubt still there. As the black night reminded her painfully of Kaz Brekker’s eyes, the thoughts and memories began to tumble out in a thick jumble.

 

His eyes, quite uselessly, were the first and last memories of the rehearsal. He never did stand close enough for her to get a close look, but as he approached, there was no mistake in those eyes of his. They came as close to black as eyes could be, far darker and more striking than Inej’s fair brown.

 

He walked closer to Inej than he had ever stood from her, a few mere meters away.

 

“Do it,” his voice was just as cool and calculating as it was always, Inej remembered, but this time, there seemed to be less of that sharp… Edge. A calmer focus of sorts.

 

Inej had barely slid into the starting pose when Brekker had stopped her. He paused for a moment, his face semi-distorted in a nearly fragile look of thought before he spoke.

 

“The way your _port de bras_ is positioned… It’s as if you’re blocking your face with your arms but preventing it by sticking your face outwards,”

 

Inej tried to correct herself, drawing her face back and instead shifting it to the left, away from her arm. But she must have looked like a chicken because Brekker cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.

 

“No, no, no,  not like that. Round your arm more, but keep the top of arm and hand straight upwards. It tricks viewers into seeing long arms.”

 

Inej liked to think that she had long arms and legs no matter how she placed them, but she knew she was no Dunyasha.. A glance in the mirror showed her that they did, indeed, look longer, and she herself looked taller, too. As she looked back to Brekker, a startle hit her as she realized how close he was standing-- a few paces away, for sure, but it was then when she realized that she never really seen him up close. His dark eyes were lidded, skin smooth and pale in contrast to her own in the mirror.

 

His hands were held in the air, the dark leather looking milkily soft, lofted up as if to twist and bend Inej’s arm like a coil of wire. He never did touch her, though, nor did he inch closer. Instead, the flash of darkness of his hands shifted in the air and gestured to her to show her what to do, as if trying to mold clay without feeling the wet material itself. Inej had the strange sense of a puppet, commanded through delicate yet sure strings.

 

Inej’s gaze traveled up along his gloved fingers, past his shoulders and collarbone, until she reached his face. Once again, she continued the thorough pleasure of studying the sharp line of his jaw, the slight pursue of his mouth. Up they went, over his strong nose, before returning back to those black eyes of his. Guarded, tight with concentration that matched his tightened lips. _Concentrating on her_ , she realized with a slight shock. She wondered what he thought of her, and a subconscious part her frowned just a slight bit. But no matter how slight, Kaz Brekker’s gaze flickered from her arms to her staring eyes. She could feel him shift slightly in surprise, and in return she stiffened.

 

“Head,” he murmured, and motioned for her to position her head looking out from under her arm into a nearly awkward position. Though not as awkward the moment when Brekker looked back into her studying eyes. Just like that, the tension broke, and Inej stared out toward the blank white wall of the studio.

 

“Draw yourself taller on your standing leg. There should be no weight on the back leg. Pull your hips up, but keep your shoulders relaxed.” The commands came one by one, and Inej could feel future soreness creeping in.

 

Was this how being a swan, Odette to be specific, was supposed to feel?

 

Inej certainly hoped not. She felt like a gawky duck, mangled into choppy pieces.

 

Kaz Brekker took a step back and Inej felt the slight heat of his body leave her. Through her peripheral vision, she could see his hand tighten, the leather curling. Was that good? Inej didn’t think so.

 

But slowly and surely, he gave a calculated nod. Once, even _twice_?

 

“Better,” a pause. “You need to mold yourself into the contours of a swan. Break free from it as a jail and make it a natural escape.”

 

Inej’s heart started to swell at the words, but at what, she didn’t know. Relief? Probably not. This subsidized nothing. Hope? It was… Too early to be realistic. Small satisfaction, perhaps, at the fact that after weeks of drudging through priceless and motivatedly aimless, she had finally lifted heavy covers and sat up in bed.

 

It was only just a pose, sure, though a very iconic and standard pose-- the core of ‘swanning’, as Jesper called it.

 

A brief pause as Brekker studied her once again.

 

“Continue,” The word was a clean break through the silence that only prevailed another.

 

And so musicless, she slid into the deep plie in preparation, arms folding delicately over head to settle in front of her crossed.

 

“Stretch your arms,” she could hear Brekker call, in a world that felt far, far away. “But don’t tense the rest of your body. Preserve the feeling of the first pose, tight and stiff in some places yet liquid grace in others.”

 

 _Liquid grace_ . Hardly, if it were that simple.  It felt like _tight and stiff_ contorted into strange positions.

 

But she knew the exact feeling he was describing, the strange twisted and inhumane feeling of a swan. Pain for perfection.

 

And so when she started her first developpe, she tried to maintain it, the coarse, almost itchy  feeling. Perhaps she did, but it wasn’t enough, because she was stopped once again, barely after she started.

 

“Head up, towards your arms, your wings. Stretch your legs and arms upwards, float up into the air before settling back down. Again.”

 

 _Again_. There was that word. Again, and again, she did it, rehearsed, ‘til she reached the all too familiar bearing of exhaustion and pain piled down all at once.

 

This was something she was used to, if anything. Not the strange, controlled movement strangling with pained emotion.

 

And when they finally finished and Inej ran it through a few times and a couple times more, Kaz Brekker still standing just a few meters away from the her the entire time, moving back and forth along the front of the room with her, shooting commands and instructions as she danced.

 

“Hear the music in your mind and dance it to life, Inej. Use your head, use your _port de bras_ , that is what will unveil a beautiful creature to the audience. They don’t watch your legs, nor do they care about your feet. They watch your face, your upper body. Use it to your advantage, but be careful to use it correctly. Sculpt yourself into Odette’s character, her body, her mind,” he paused for a moment, seemingly catching his breath, but words were collecting on his mouth as he quieted. “Good work, Ghafa. You’re… on the path to getting there.”

 

He had called her Inej-- she realized with a slight shock, only having realized when he switched back to the generic Ghafa again

 

“Thank you,” Inej murmured in return, sliding into a small curtsy and bowing her head.

 

With that, he left the room nimbly and quietly, grabbing his black jacket on his way out. He turned back one last time, and Inej watched him, watched as only his head swiveled slightly but those black eyes caught hers.

 

She watched him leave, then promptly collapsed in a heap into the welcoming ground, like clothes tossed to the floor. Her back, slick with sweat, rubbed disgustingly against the studio floor, but she didn’t care. Her pulse worked overtime, heartbeat beating furiously in her chest. One of the overhead lights flickered as if in a relatable empathy.

 

Then slowly, slowly, she got up, forced herself to take even sips of water, and took one last look of the quiet, empty studio. With that, she flickered off the lights and left.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Inej left the studio, into the world of the evening sky,  that she realized that that was the first sense of anything close to true praise that he had ever given her.


	7. sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inej reflects with Jesper and meets a new threat after a rehearsal is taken to the next level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all. if anyone is still there. because it's been over half a year! whoops, my fault. anyways, so i started at a new school which has kept me super busy but i'm on break now so i decided to write a chapter! yay! anyways so some notes before we get started:  
> -thanks for reading. seriously. it's been a while and for anyone who forgot everything (like me): inej is a principal dancer at city ballet theater. in a production of swan lake that kaz brekker is staging, she has been (quite unusually) cast as odette while dunyasha is odile. inej is Not The Best at it and takes up extra rehearsals with kaz.  
> -there are gifs that i tried to embed of some of the steps. hopefully they show up? also, if you search up swan lake act 2 pas de deux on youtube it should come up if you wanna watch it. the gillian murphy one is my favorite! also, i am PAINFULLY aware that all the odettes are white in all of them. these are just for reference in case you get confused and are not meant to be representation of any kind.  
> -i haven't written in a while so this lowkey might suck but enjoy!

The next night, Inej received another curt nod, as if the small act of goodness was offensive to his morale. And two nights later, he even let out a small but well calculated “ _ good _ ” and Inej felt as if the praise was more important than anything  _ New York Times _ could give her. Precisely six days later before company class, however, she realized that though Brekker had taken to calling her  _ Inej _ in the evenings during their private rehearsals, she was still  _ Ghafa _ during the day in front of the company, if addressed at all.

 

“I’m not sure if you’re trying to shatter the mirror with laser eyes or mentally make Dunyasha’s coffee spill all over the marley floor.” The voice came from the same person that stood next to her in company class everyday without fail. Even if it meant occasionally kicking out a lower level apprentice or trainee not quite knowledge of all the taken barre spots in the room. Perks of being a prima, he would always say with a laugh.

 

“I’m trying to figure it out for myself, too,” Inej responded, now acutely aware of the furrow between her brows and frown that crescented her lips. When she got no response, she let out a sigh and turned to meet the warm brown eyes of Jesper Fahey. One of his eyebrows was raised, which was internally infuriating because Inej could never figure out how to do it herself.

 

“You’re moodier than normal today, Ghafa,” he said in a cross between joking and threatening. He gave a lazy grin, propping his leg up on the barre to stretch before their daily morning ballet class started. The  _ Ghafa _ made her stiffen, an unfortunate reminder of the stony Brekker.

 

“I don’t think that’s possible,”  Inej replied, with a quick quirk of her mouth. Jesper looked unamused, so she continued. “Just stressed about Odette. There’s barely a month and a half left until the premiere.”

 

“You’re being dramatic, it has improved. And don’t worry, I’m doing it with you. Even if you suck, I can provide the electricity and romantic tension that will satisfy the thousands of people watching.” Jesper grinned, his signature white teeth flashing quickly beneath the bright sunlight streaming through the panels of windows.

 

“I don’t want your electricity or romantic tension. Give it to Wylan, Saints know you both want it.” Inej scoffed as a light pink spread across Jesper’s high cheekbones, though he gave a confident grin. Wylan van Eck was on of the company pianists and a new “friend” of Jesper’s, though Jesper was confident that the relationship would develop into new territory. He also played flute for the company’s orchestra for performances. But during classes and rehearsals he played piano. Inej could see him out of the corner of her eye, in the corner of the room warming up his lithe fingers with some light scales.

 

“Actually, about that… We’re going on a date tomorrow night. Well, not a  _ date _ date. I mean I think it’s romantic, but he never explicitly said that. Anyways, one of his favorite musicians is doing a show and we’re going to go see it. I went over to your apartment last night to tell you the news in person, but you weren’t there. Nina said you’ve been going home late lately. Are you doing drugs or something? I can’t imagine you missing your nightly yoga session.” His voice got higher and faster as he rambled, eventually ending with a long exhale after he finished. “Sorry. I just…” He let out another sharp exhale and put his head in his hands. Inej only looked at him with a slightly unimpressed look. A nervous Jesper was a rare sight. Even before the most intimidating of shows he would pull up a calm and brazenly confident look.

 

“Jesper, you’ll be fine. He adores you.” Inej responded, with the barest hint of a laugh.

“But where have you been lately? You aren’t actually doing drugs, are you? It’s not going to help with  _ Swan Lake _ . Or have you, the frigid antisocial queen of City Ballet Theatre, met…  _ A guy _ ? Or a girl, I guess.” Jesper raised his brows at her, stretching out his toned calves.

 

He meant it jokingly, but the words struck deeply with Inej. She hadn’t told Jesper that she had taken up additional nightly private rehearsals with the man Kaz Brekker himself. Inej knew it wasn’t that big of a deal, but some part of her just… Couldn’t tell him. Had to keep it a secret, though she wasn’t sure why. As if the times in the studio after it had been abandoned by the tired dancers had to be kept private to keep the heavy, near numinous feeling. So her adventures were untold to Jesper and Nina. She had a feeling that Kaz hadn’t necessarily mentioned it to anyone either.

 

And besides, if she told him now, he would freak out about her not telling him earlier. Private lessons with the dark and mysterious Kaz Brekker? Major tea, even if he wouldn’t tell anyone. She was just about to come up with some half assed excuse when Jesper beat her to it.

 

“Oh fun, the devil arrives at company class today,” Inej glanced in the mirror, and sure enough, Kaz Brekker had come in to watch their morning class, dressed in a typical rich black overcoat that he didn’t bother to take off and his signature sleek leather gloves. Inej could hear faint whispers about his arrival from the other company members. “He still creeps me out a bit. I mean, he’s in an evolved adult emo phase.”

 

Brekker was invited by Julius Lebeau, the company’s director, to stage the upcoming  _ Swan Lake _ performance. He seemed quite intimidating and intense, but Inej assumed most people thought that she was too. That’s why Jesper joked that they were the match made in hell- he was the amiable flirt, popular with fans on social media and other company members, while Inej was the quiet, sly one. Still respected, just more (as her roommate Nina put it) antisocial.

 

She sighed, and pulled off her legwarmers. It was going to be a long day indeed.

* * *

 

By two o’clock, a blister had formed on her pinky toe.

 

By four o’clock, she swore that her toenail was going to fall off.

 

By six o’clock, she discovered that it was only bruised, thankfully. After a day of rehearsals for  _ Swan Lake _ and  _ Paquita _ , another ballet she was performing in in the upcoming season, she nearly regretted not doing something relatively tame and boring. Nearly.

 

And yet, two painkillers, an energy bar, and an ice foot bath later, she pulled her pointe shoes back on for her now customary daily rehearsal with Kaz Brekker.

 

When she walked into the near empty studio, the first thing that she noticed was that Kaz Brekker was not wearing black. Or, at least, his usual stiff black coat was lying on the bench by the mirror, revealing a crisp gray vest and a white shirt rolled up the forearms. Beside his coat was his thin, dark cane. She had never looked closely enough at it before, but the top was embellished with a stark white bird and the body of the cane was engraved with grooves. Her eyebrows twitched at the rare sight of an overcoat-less, cane-less Brekker. She could feel the gaze of the man himself heavy upon the back of her neck, and so she turned to face him, his face unrevealing as always, as he leaned upon his favored leg.

 

“I was thinking we could work on the pas de deux today.” He had quite unusually phrased it as a question, though it was more of a statement just put out there.

 

“The pas? But Jesper’s not here.” Inej frowned, her hands folded over the top of her white practice tutu.

 

“Luckily enough, the person who choreographed it is.” His words, though pleasant enough, were nearly… Snarky. Inej blinked at his response. Dance with Brekker? That explained the coat and the cane. Yet still, the thought seemed unfathomable. She sometimes forgot that once, he too must have been a dancer, for his sharp and almost stiff movements reminded her more of an uptight businessman than anything.

 

“Of course,” Inej replied, trying not to sound too bewildered by the concept. As she made her way to the corner of the room, she rolled out her wrists and ran the choreography over in her head, praying to her Saints that she wouldn’t forget and screw up in front of Brekker.

 

The melody rang in her head as she stepped into her first  _ sousou _ , confident yet cautious, arms rising above her head and until her wrists were separated by only a whisper. She ceased for just a moment and held it, savoring a breath in the pose. She risked a glance in the mirror, despite all of Brekker’s reprimands telling her not to, and nearly stiffened when she caught his gaze heavy upon her. He looked nearly childish, lips parted and eyes wide, as he watched her command the room with the simple movement. For once, he stayed silent. The look upon his face and the lack of outright criticism fueled her to break her stillness.

 

Up and down her arms went as she smoothly ran a circle around the stage, feet barely hitting the floor, until she hit the center mark and paused before sliding down into a lunge and then folding upon herself. She could nearly imagine the presence of the corps de ballet members in the room with them, still yet weighty. Leather lightly grazed the tops of her hands as she slowly rose, returning once again to  _ sousou _ . But this time, instead of him watching her, he was right behind her. His grip was light yet supportive on her as her front leg raised into  _ passe _ for her first turn. The feeling of leather was strange in her hands, smooth and slick.

 

As she came out of the turn, her leg rose to arabesque before she  _ penched _ , upper body sweeping forward with her back leg in pursuit. His hands had shifted to her hips to keep her from falling and once again she was struck by the fact that once, he too had been a dancer just as her and Jesper.

 

After she rose up again, her back leg bent and she turned towards him, arms sweeping as her head tilted up to his face. She was painfully aware of how close they were now, his gaze pointedly avoiding her eyes as she noticed the brush of thick dark lashes against his pale cheek. Her whole body seemed to lift as she took a breath before she dived down once again in a smooth swoop, his hands adjusting to keep her afloat.

 

She seemed to fly past time as the pas continued, still not a word have emitted from Brekker. There was something crucial about mutual silence and concentration in a pas, the feeling of connection that gave little space for other thoughts.

 

Inej extended her leg out to develope front, her opposite hand in his hand keeping her stable. Then, refusing to feel nervous, she let go, throwing her arms up and falling backwards. For just a moment she was weightless and falling, her throat tightening and body stiffening, then-

 

He was there, catching her in his arms. Inej leaned back, arms nearly reaching the ground behind her. Her heart pounded at the sheer thrill of it, of blindingly trusting him. And then she was turning again, then being lifted, diving downwards, turning, lifted, falling, rising, the tide of the wave relentless and never stopping. Until finally,  _ finally _ , with one last swoop downwards, her back leg in  _ penche _ making a straight, vertical line with her front leg, the memorized music in her head dropped off. The hands at her waist propped her up once again gently.

 

The moment both her feet were back on the ground and she came off of pointe he stepped back, hands snatched away. Inej wiped the sweat trickling into her eyes and ignored the pain in her feet as she turned to face him. He was silent for a moment, just looking at her, and then he was gone- he drew himself up taller, stiffened his shoulders, and regained the calculating look in his eyes. Every trace of the nearly vulnerable and fluid Kaz Brekker had been carefully erased. And then he started again:

 

“In the beginning, when you first walk on,” His words seemed to muddle as the corrections piled one by one, Inej correcting herself and doing it over, fixing her head and adjusting her shoulders. This, it seemed, was something that would never change.

* * *

 

Pointe shoes dangling from her left hand, water bottle raised to her lips in her right, Inej forced herself to keep on walking out of the dance studio, legs threatening to collapse under her. Tonight, she would take a bath, maybe steal one of Nina’s fancy bath products. Try to finish reading her book, though she knew that was extremely unlikely. And maybe if-

 

As Inej rounded, the corner, she nearly collided into a mass so still it could have been furniture. Waiting for her. She dragged her eyes up and saw none other than the sly face of Dunyasha Lazareva.

 

“Evening, Ghafa. Seems like you’ve been keeping your nights busy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for the kudos, hits, and bookmarks! :))  
> Glossary of Ballet Terms:  
> Company: A group of dancers that produce ballets. The main company in DoS is City Ballet Theatre, which is entirely fictional. Real ones include Bolshoi Ballet (which is referenced), American Ballet Theatre, and New York City Ballet.  
> Director: the director of the company is essentially the 'president' of the company and leads the company, but not as a dancer. Julius Lebeau is the director in this fic.  
> Odette and Odile: the main roles in the ballet 'Swan Lake'. Typically played by the same dancer.  
> Class/Technique Class: Ballet lessons where they go through designated movements together to warm up and keep in shape.  
> Barre: the horizontal 'pole' dancers hold onto during class. Also referred to the portion of class doing exercises at/with the barre at hand.  
> Plies. tendus, degages: movements done during class to warm up the body.  
> Vaganova: a ballet technique/style of ballet originated in Russia.


End file.
